


Living on the run

by redpenfics



Category: American (US) Actor RPF, Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-11 14:15:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19929421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redpenfics/pseuds/redpenfics
Summary: Two men who reached the breaking point and just watch the world collapse around them...





	Living on the run

**Author's Note:**

> Based on Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis' partnership. Watched several vids w/them and loved the intensity of their friendship.

“Stop. Just stop!” He seemed calm but the tremble in his voice was threatening to unleash the hell just beneath the even surface of apparent calmness and destroy whatever on its path. 

The other man was facing him, his dark eyes shooting daggers, his whole body tense as if he was ready to attack.

“You can’t leave!” He hissed and curled his fist subconsciously. He couldn’t and wouldn’t give up without fight, even if it meant their ten-year close friendship was about to crumble.

There was more to them than just ten years of success, money and fame. The monkey in him would poke his finger into his aching chest, demanding, demanding, always demanding.

“You’re mine!”

The words came out in a low growl through clenched teeth, which made him look even more ferocious. Funny, he didn’t want to scare him or force him, he didn’t plan it, he didn’t want it, but that angry helplessness made him vulnerable and sickeningly aggressive. He longed for something that was impossible and both of them knew that. They’d parted long before they realized it.

“I’m out of this barrel of monkeys. Guess the animal act is over.”

The words were echoing bluntly in his ears. He walked up and grabbed his partner’s dark hair, holding the intense gaze, trying to becharm, bedevil him. Whatever it took. He had nothing to lose.

“The contract’s just been made. That fucking film is rolling in two weeks. It’s not the end. You can’t and won’t leave.”

The other man pushed him away and stepped back, the muscles in his jaw twitching.

“Says who? The puppet master?”

A weird, hollow laugh tore through his chest. His head was buzzing like he was drunk, his blood was bursting fiercely through his veins and he staggered in his steps backwards. 

“We’re a fucking team. We’re fucking together,” he glanced at him. “Are we?”

The other man was just standing there, the ever-present cigarette between his fingers, breathing heavily but stubbornly refusing to say anything.

“Talk to me, you asshole!” He cried, walking up again and grabbing his lapels in the last effort to save the sinking ship that was their partnership.

“I’m out!”

He shook his head, stunned. Those three words were slipping into his mind like poison. He chuckled to himself. It almost felt like the fate put on reverse. The other three words would make him as high but his head wouldn’t hurt so much, his heart wouldn’t beat so hard in his chest. Before he could move, he felt a wave of nausea.

“Tell me it’s another lame joke of yours. A new shtick that doesn’t really work,” he grabbed his arm. “Just stop acting and fucking tell me everything we’re coming through is a fucking nightmare and we’re gonna wake up and… and everything’s gonna be like it used to be. The cues and clues and shit but it’s still about us being us, spontaneous, restless and wild,” he almost whined, his chest tightening with tears that were held at bay of his stubborn will.

“You can’t entertain the dead.”

He felt his hands were gently pulled away and then his thumb rubbed over his, the unspoken love being expressed for the very last time, although they never said it explicitly, taking in comfort of being a pair of comedians, always being in on the act.

“You’ll regret that. You won’t survive without me. You’ll be long gone,” he swallowed. “You’re fucking insane.”

No answer would ever come. The lips he’d kissed so many times just curved into that half-smile he couldn’t read. He knew it was like trying to embrace a ghost, his hand would just go through the flesh and leave him numb.

And when he saw his back turning on him, he wanted to run and make him turn back, but he knew it was too late. Way too late.

_Love is made of heartache, disappointment and ill-timing. Please, God, if you exist, tell me, it’s living on the run till you find it; it’s not all said and done before it’s over._


End file.
